Double Shot of Scotch

by Cleveland, Peter

  Dozer’s wide grin displayed brilliant white teeth. “Yes, but this is a bonus.”

  Anna’s face lit up. “H-e-l-l-o you two, I’m standing right here. Stop talking as if I’m not.”

  “Forgive me,” Dozer said softly as he gently took Anna’s hand. “That was rude.”

  “Anna, did I mention he can charm a woman off her feet?”

  “Must have slipped your mind,” she said, smiling at Dozer. “But I’m liking it.”

  Dozer’s touch was tender as he hugged her.

  Anna made coffee while St. James and Dozer settled at the dining table. St. James took Dozer through every detail of the Stevens and CISI cases, the police reports, and the names of the two guys burned in the Mercedes. Dozer would have to know everything. He’d likely be needed for more than just Anna’s protection. Every case had its surprises, most of them unpleasant. And when they happened, St. James wanted Dozer by his side.

  Dozer rubbed his shiny bald head. “Doesn’t have to be someone from a current case, you know, Hamilton. Could be anybody you helped put away.”

  “Could be, I suppose. As a matter of fact, Inspector DuPont and I were talking recently about vengeful ex-cons who may have it in for us. Something to watch for.”

  Dozer nodded. “I’ll get details on them later. Right now I’m interested in the two current cases.”

  “I just started on CISI. Not close to anything there yet. Odds favour the Stevens case. I’m a ways along there and have learned things that could make some people nervous.”

  “If you play the odds,” Dozer said casually. “Let’s spend a few days, see if any cockroaches crawl out of the woodwork. What I’ll do now is check out this place. Then we’ll go to Anna’s. Examine windows and doors for vulnerability in both places. Who has a key to this place?”

  “Just me, Louis, and Anna. Oh, and the cleaning lady, Mrs. Hendricks.”

  “How long she been your cleaning lady?”

  “About two years.”

  “Hmm. Okay. I’d be more concerned if you had just hired her. Greater chance her being a plant for someone with ill intentions. If she was a plant two years ago something would have happened long before this.”

  Dozer slowly worked his way through the condo, room by room, thoroughly examining each as he went. Opening and closing windows and doors, checking wall thickness, assessing vulnerabilities from rooftops across the street.

  “The area is well lit at night and there’s a lot of day traffic,” Dozer concluded. “It’s not likely anyone would try something here. Too easy to be seen, get caught.”

  He turned to Anna. “Let’s look at your place.”

  They taxied to Anna’s apartment, and Dozer repeated the same examination he had conducted on St. James’s condo while Anna and St. James waited in the sitting room. When Dozer finished, they all went outside where St. James and Anna waited by the curb while Dozer walked the perimeter of the building. Dozer returned minutes later shaking his head.

  “I don’t like it, Hamilton. I don’t like it at all, not one bit,” he said, continuing to shake his head. He pointed to the upper floor. “It’s old and only two stories, easy to get into by the fire escape. Locks are cheesy and could be opened by any amateur. Windows are the old wooden-framed type, with rotting sills and puttied glass. I could put my fist through the wood anywhere. It’s impossible to protect Anna here. An igloo would be harder to break into with a hot knife.”

  Anna frowned.

  “Well, what do you suggest?” St. James asked.

  “Two things.”

  “What?”

  “First, Anna gets whatever she needs right now and moves in with you until this thing is over. I’ll ask the concierge to watch people coming and going. Note unrecognizable characters and unusual behaviour. Only Spiderman could climb the outside of your building. The likelihood of anyone trying something there is remote. More than likely they’ll wait until she’s out of the building. Then, I’ll be with her.”

  “What’s the second thing?”

  Dozer pointed to Anna’s apartment. “Make the place look like Anna’s still here. Three or four times a week I’ll bring her over to enter the front door. That will give the impression she’s coming home as usual. So, it has to be at her normal time. She’ll go straight out the back. The yard is small and secluded: no one will see her there. I’ll be waiting. There’s an alleyway from the yard to the next street over where my car will be waiting to take her back to your place. When it snows her footprints will reinforce normal living patterns.

  “I brought some new equipment with me, Hamilton. Left it with your concierge. Rotating timers for lights, television, and radio. Not the ones that come on the same time every day. Crooks know right away no one’s home. No one turns on the lights at exactly the same time every day. Guy who invented them was terminally stupid.” Anna’s brow furrowed. “My timers activate randomly. As unpredictable as humans themselves. More believable.

  “I also have special traps to put under windows, the most likely entry points. Least difficult to jimmy.”

  Anna was silent, digesting it all, evaluating what was happening to her world.

  “These traps, are they legal?” St. James asked suspiciously.

  “I can use them if I get written consent in advance from the guys they trap,” Dozer said sarcastically. “Of course they’re not legal.”

  Anna’s brow furrowed again.

  St. James smiled. “Thought so.”

  Dozer grinned. “Have a new electronic toy I’m anxious to try. Series of listening devices. Runs off cell phone applications. Someone enters a room and an alarm goes off here.” Dozer tapped the cell screen. “Starts recording right away. If I just touch the screen again, I can actually listen to what’s said, real time.”

  “Wow! Neat,” St. James said enthusiastically.

  “Say there’s a window break-in. The intruder steps in. Trap snaps a leg,” Dozer said as he acted out the steps. “If he’s not alone, he yells for help, panics. Evidence is recorded. If he escapes, there’s blood for DNA testing. And he’ll need medical attention right away, otherwise he’ll bleed out. Traps are forceful, enough to take down a large bear. The teeth are an unusual shape. On a man, it goes through to the bone and leaves a permanent identifiable scar, shaped like a leaf. Evidence that lasts. Police have the wound description to distribute to hospitals and clinics, so the perpetrator has a difficult time hiding for any length of time.”

  “But the traps are illegal,” St. James protested.

  “I didn’t say they were illegal. I said they weren’t legal. Illegal means they’re against the law. Not legal means they’re not approved by the law. Big difference.”

  St. James shrugged and turned to Anna.

  “You’ve been quiet through all this, Anna.”

  “I’m just absorbing it all,” she said slowly, looking more puzzled than scared. “You’re very thorough, Dozer. I can see why Hamilton has such confidence in you.”

  “Thank you for that, Anna,” Dozer said with a huge smile.

  St. James said to Anna, “How about you go up and gather what you need? Then give your key to Dozer so he can set things up. I’ll come up in a few minutes to help with bags.”

  She nodded and made her way up to the apartment.

  Dozer pointed to the side of the building. “Hamilton, you watch the alley around back. I’ll watch out here. We don’t want her seen leaving with bags. Defeats the plan.”

  “Okay,” St. James said obediently and then walked through the alley around back.

  Neither Dozer nor St. James saw eyes on the place.

  Dozer called a cab on his cell, giving the address of a house on St. Andrew, the street immediately behind Anna’s.

  When several minutes had passed, St. James went upstairs. Anna finished packing and they descended the back stairs to the small backyard, following a narrow footpath between two houses through to St. Andrew. Dozer was waiting there, standing beside a cab. He helped load Anna’s lug
gage into the trunk and she handed him her keys to the apartment. Then Anna and St. James piled into the taxi; they were gone in three minutes flat.

  Dozer watched the taxi turn off St. Andrew, then made his way back to Anna’s. He stopped to make a long, slow scan around Guigues and Anna’s building. Satisfied there was nothing to be concerned about, he locked Anna’s apartment and headed to 700 Sussex.

  When he arrived, he retrieved the equipment from the concierge and asked him to diligently watch comings and goings, noting descriptions of people he didn’t know and the times they entered and left. He should walk the building a couple times a day. Any unusual behavior was to be reported to Dozer immediately. Dozer gave him his cell number and $500 for his trouble, then left for Anna’s with equipment slung over his shoulder.

  The first thing St. James eyed when he entered the condo was the flashing message light. He punched in the password and listened to the insurance adjuster estimate the repair cost for the BMW at $21,630. St. James called them back and said he’d like it repaired at the Hunt Club dealer. The adjuster confirmed and reminded St. James his policy covered the full cost of a rental while his own car was being repaired.

  That made St. James’s next call an easy choice: Enterprise Car Rental. A lady at the Bank Street franchise promised a car that very afternoon. They’d require Anna’s license information if she was to be an occasional driver, and St. James gave it over the phone.

  Anna moved to the study and began researching Gyberson and Nells. It wouldn’t take away her heightened anxiety, but it was a welcomed distraction.

  St. James realized he needed a strategy for tomorrow’s meeting with Anderson to deal with the offensive way the CEO had spoken to him in Toronto.

  He sat at the dining table and debated different approaches. Anderson had behaved as if St. James was the reason the board didn’t trust him. If St. James ignored that, he’d effectively be giving Anderson power over him. And that didn’t sit well. On the other hand, if he verbally hit Anderson too hard it could blow up the whole project. He didn’t want that either. Weighing everything, he concluded a stern conversation was in order. It might trigger a rough start, but the air had to be cleared.

  Chapter 31

  Thursday morning St. James arrived at CISI’s headquarters at 9:50 and was escorted into Anderson’s opulent office at 10:00.

  Anderson stood to greet him and shake hands.

  Friendlier than last week.

  Cameron Anderson was every inch the consummate executive. Five-ten, of average build, with perfectly coiffed sandy hair, a thin face, and a perfectly formed nose. A huge smile showcased even, white teeth, just as St. James remembered from the website pictures. He was too young for the statesman look, but professional in every other way. His Armani suit, calm demeanour, and an air of confidence accentuated the look.

  Anderson’s office was a mini version of the Charles Dickens boardroom down the hall, with dark mahogany wall panelling, heavy, plush, handmade area rugs, and multiple recessed lighting pods to compensate for the room’s darkness. A gas fireplace occupied one corner.

  Anderson came from behind a large walnut desk and gestured St. James toward a sitting area furnished with a grey leather chesterfield, two matching armchairs, and a glass coffee table between. He offered St. James the chesterfield and then sat in an armchair facing him, crossed his legs and steepled his hands.

  “How would you like to proceed?” he asked quietly.

  “In a clear and transparent way,” St. James replied, voice stern but polite.

  Anderson’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”

  “I work hard for my clients, but when a relationship begins with rude behaviour, the air has to be cleared. If it can’t be, it’s no place for me. So, if you plan to continue your aggressive behaviour of last week, I will resign now and provide clear reasons to the board.”

  Still and expressionless, Anderson said, “Perhaps we got off to a bad start. I’m very frustrated with the board’s lack of appreciation for the company’s success. Rather than praising management for outstanding financial results, the directors remain suspicious. I apologize for my behaviour last week. Let’s see if we can start over.”

  St. James leaned forward.

  “Okay, but let’s be clear: the board asked me to get involved here because they think you’re keeping something from them. We could spend a lot of time dancing, or you could help me get to the bottom of whatever is going on, if anything is at all. Then I’ll be out of your life all the faster. My time will be less. My fees will be less. And you’ll be closer to meeting budget.”

  Anderson said nothing.

  St. James continued with a less aggressive tone.

  “A cost-efficiency review is bullshit … it’s a game, you know that. No good ever comes from corporate games. Everyone looks bad.”

  “Did you tell Nelson that?” he asked calmly.

  “No, I did not.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was intrigued by a board that allegedly couldn’t get information from its CEO. My reading of Nelson was I had to fall in behind or I’d never find out why. So I let the game go on.”

  Anderson stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.

  “I see,” he said thoughtfully, “and … now that you’re in you want to shut the game down, so to speak?”

  St. James didn’t hesitate for a second. “That’s right. Now I’m part of an investigation. My brand is tied to it. That makes the difference. Means there’ll be no games.”

  Anderson smiled.

  “Perhaps I underestimated you, Hamilton.”

  St. James pulled a notebook from his attaché case.

  “So, let’s get down to it,” he said, his tone returning to normal. “Your annual bonus is tied to, among other things, corporate profitability. Greater emphasis has been placed on that as a result of the independent compensation review last year. Your contract says there are two tests before you’re bonused. If CISI’s profit is less than $90 million, you receive no bonus. That’s the floor, the threshold, so to speak. Right?”

  “Right. I see they’ve given you a copy of my contract,” he said with a slight smile.

  St. James didn’t respond.

  “Surpassing the $90 million minimum profit is the first test. Last year, before the inventory adjustment, profit was $85 million, $5 million less than the $90 million minimum for your $500,000 bonus to be granted.”

  St. James knew the answer to the next question but asked it anyway. Anderson would not have received a bonus without the huge write-up of inventory. His bonus was without question a motive to manipulate profit.

  “How much was the inventory adjustment again?”

  “$95 million,” Anderson replied coolly.

  “So, $85 million net income plus the $95 million adjustment brings net income to $180 million, $90 million past the first threshold test. Correct?”

  “Correct,” Anderson said without a flinch.

  St. James continued. “After all bonuses are paid and expensed, profit cannot drop below $90 million. The second test. So, you can’t have a $90 million profit trigger a $500,000 bonus, reducing profit to $89.5 million. The second test wouldn’t be met.

  “Bonuses paid last year totaled $2.5 million, including your $500,000, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “So, net income after the $95 million inventory adjustment minus total bonuses of $2.5 million means you were way ahead on the second test too, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So, we can agree you had motive to manipulate inventory?”

  “Absolutely,” Anderson said without hesitation. “However, you’re assuming I’m the only one with that motive. There are twenty-eight people in the senior management profit pool, each allotted different bonus amounts. The other twenty-seven also have that motive. That is, if there actually was manipulation. And I’m not aware there was. So this discussion is purely theoretical.”

  Anderson folded his arms.

&nb
sp; St. James challenged Anderson. “A number of the twenty-seven employees would not receive a bonus great enough to motivate inflating inventory, to take the risk of being fired. And most of them would not get close enough to inventory numbers, either financially or physically, to pull off such a caper.”

  “I am in the worst position of all to manipulate anything financial,” Anderson countered, his voice calm and sincere. “I’m further away from plant operations and inventory control than anyone in the pool. If I wanted to manipulate profit, I’d have to control the three layers of management between me and inventory around the world. There’d have to be a hell of a lot of collusion among a lot of people for me to pull something like that off.”

  “Same could be said for many others in the pool,” St. James argued.

  St. James didn’t admit it, but Anderson had a point. He eyed the man closely for a long moment.

  Uncomfortable silence.

  “What’s wrong?” Anderson finally asked.

  “You! Despite my direct approach you didn’t outright deny the plausibility of inventory manipulation, by anyone.”

  “Perhaps we’ve underestimated each other,” Anderson said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Let me come at it a different way,” St. James suggested. “Are you concerned in any way some wrongdoing in the company may have occurred?”

  Anderson stared at the ceiling a second time, taking a long moment to reflect.

  “It’s a distinct possibility,” he said finally.

  St. James thought this must have been very difficult for him to admit, and probably the first time he had expressed it to anyone, maybe even to himself.

  “Who has opportunity as well as motive?” St. James pressed.

  Anderson paused once more, wanting to choose his words carefully.

  “Apart from me? I would say my chief financial officer, Karen Van Hoyt, would have opportunity by virtue of her position. However, I have the utmost confidence in her integrity.”

  “How long has she been with CISI?”

  “About eight years.”

  “Happy with her performance?”